The beach run – part 3
The head of delegation informed the members that the hotel food was ‘already too monotonous’ and that he was aware of that. To save us from this, he declared that Saturday dinner would be taken at a location away from the hotel. He did not divulge the location, leaving it to the category of ‘surprise’. This is a declaration he made during the customary lunch time roundtable – a second such lunch at this location so far.
The afternoon seminar session became the longest ever. We had vowed to exit the ultimate session by six o’clock. However, by that time we were half way through the business of the afternoon. We had the option of formulating a new session for the next morning, or extending the current session. After a vote that was narrowly won, it was decided that the session be extended so that we can have a free tomorrow.
Exhausted
The folks left the seminar room at 7.40pm completely exhausted. In fact they did not even wait for a discussion on that evening’s program. I was left with the task of clearing the room of our materials, which included an overhead projector, a laptop computer, some stationery and the power extension socket outlet, which I had to return to the hotel management.
Slowly, the quorum gathered at the hotel lobby from 8.30pm. By nine o’clock the chartered hotel mini bus was parked outside the main hotel entrance, ready to transport the group. The mood in the bus was now jovial. All were happy to have cleared the business that had necessitated the retreat. The day-out was quite a welcome relief. All started to agree that the hotel food needed a break, even as the bus made a right turn into the busy Malindi road.
Five minutes into the journey, someone drew our attention to the right side of the road and showed us the flashing lights that were Karolina Inn. Momentarily I recalled how a team of planners that I associate with back in Narobi had taken a project in Mombasa, to do a digital map for Mtwapa. I had done their systems, software and databases and was therefore in the know of their now frequent coast trips. I had wondered why they had been devoid of details whenever they were late to come back to Nairobi. They were quite shy of revealing the going ons at Mtwapa. They would just say, “It was good. We did the business but needed two extra days to finalize.” It was during a spur of the moment outburst in their city centre office that they had mentioned ‘that Karolina place’, but changed topic when they discovered that a stranger was in the house, and started talking about the ‘that District Planning Officer’s place’ and how they met and discussed business.
Karolina
Here I was, facing Karolina with lights flashing and the music booming. I played a joke on the driver by telling him to stop briefly so that we can appreciate the place. The joke-loving driver stepped on the brakes and said, “Sawa bana, sasa utajua Mombasa raha!” He then released his braking and we continued with our journey. The same colleague who drew our attention to the place now went ahead and told his story, but devoid of any details. He said there was a time he was convinced to step into the place for a drink. He hardly stepped in before he was ushered in with a yellow-yellow who was almost in her birthday suit. When he was finally shown his seat, the y-y was already seated on him! When we pressed him for details, amid loud laughter, he just brushed off the topic and told our team of eleven, “It was an experience that am not repeating soon, but you people are welcome to find out for yourselves.”
The two members who were not from Nairobi responded almost immediately. The driver was the first one, “Niliwambieni Mombasa raha.”
The manager from our hotel, who accompanied us added, “That was quite normal. They have now gone a notch higher, lakini after the third drink, you shall not notice anything strange.”
We were still on that topic when the bus slowed down and then turned into a compound on the same left side of the road before coming to a stop.
“Shukeni. Tumefika,” declared our head of delegation.
“What, here! Already!!,” was the reaction of many. The drive had not been long. In fact we were only about fifteen minutes away from our usual abode. We had expected a long drive. Nonetheless, hunger was setting in and so the disembark was a good relief.
Big
At the entrance of the joint, now filled with fairly loud music, we met a group of about five. The seemed like the hotel security. Our host, the hotel manager, went in and had a brief discussion with the team. After his discussions, he came back out and told us, “Tuko sawa, tuingieni.”
One of the security personnel asked the men to pass through his frisking hands. Just ahead, the ladies were asked to go straight in where a female security personnel, in full uniform was waiting for them. This particular lady was big! She looked like the no nonsense type. One who would easily rough you up with the slightest or no provocation. I did not envy the colleagues going through her security check. Since we did not have any weapons, our checking in and entry was smooth. We even managed to get in without paying the mandatory 100/= per head, thanks to cooperation between hotels as ensured by our host.
Loud
When we moved in, the music got louder and quite inviting to dance. The dance floor, a depressed part, just after the main entrance was still empty, though the flashing lights were doing their thing on the emptiness. Scattered around the establishment were a few revelers – countable – most having a drink, few having a meal, one or two just walking about or idling aimlessly. There was a fountain that was combined with a swimming pool construct, on the middle part of the sitting arrangement. We found ourselves at the extreme end of the pool, just next to the perimeter wall. Our table had been booked and therefore set in advance of our arrival.
As we settled on the table, we wondered why there was so much hype about this place, yet it was just an ordinary place? The host just told us, “It is just a good place to eat and drink. They usually have some shows later on.”
Reflections
The next night when we went to sober up with a few drinks on the next compound to our hotel, we tried to reflect on the night before. This Sunday night sobering meeting was just for the three members of my committee and two other invited colleagues.
“Did yesterday really happen or am I dreaming?,” the lady in the group asked.
“That was reality, you are not dreaming gal,” we confirmed to her, almost in unison.
I was also in need of assurance that we were not dreaming, nor had stepped onto that insect! (But the insect caused only loss of way, not loss of reality!).
Two ladies hovered around our table, then sat just on the next table behind us. They ordered nothing. They just sat there engaged in small talk. They ensured that they kept glancing at our table of four men and one lady. Out of curiosity, the men folk on the table occasionally glanced in their direction. They were not bothered by the attention, nor were the folks on our table. On the next table, a white man and an African girl were in deep embrace, while sipping a common bottle of some drink. She had a small black tight sleeveless T-shirt that cleaved on her as if it was part of her skin. The front part was cut in V-shape – more like U shape. Exposing most of her frontness. She had a skimpy short pair of shorts. When she passed by our table, presumably to take a call, we were exposed to quite a view. She seemed not to mind.
On the table behind us, the two ladies kept their attention focused on us. We occasionally glanced behind, just in case they pounced – you never know – this coast place was turning out to be quite a challenge to handle the type of surprises that just emerge from the blues.
Reality
My mind could however not fully comprehend yesterday, and in the midst of football game being shown on the big screen elevated just in front of our seating location, I started to flashback….
After our dinner, which was quite sumptuous, we settled down to small talk and some drinks. As per tradition, it started raining, forcing those on the exposed parts of the establishment to move towards our tent. For a moment our sheltered sitting place was jammed by the steadily swelling crowd of revelers. The music had been turned two or three volume levels up. The ten minutes rain, with its characteristic heat, finally ended and the revelers resumed their scattered sitting places. We started seeing a main stage being swept, part of which was over the fountain pool. One side of the pool was just infront of our sitting position, though there was still an exact ‘pool side’ seating place, with the pool wall serving as a base of placing drinks. These seating places had however not been taken, and therefore we could have a view of the pool, stage and the activities.
Explosion
Alas! There was some distance sound that seemed like an explosion, followed by an abrupt stop to the music, then the lights were off.
“Ah, stima tena,” someone in the crowd shouted.
“Sounded like a transformer explosion,” someone else volunteered loudly.
After some moments of confusion, the lights came back and the music resumed.
At about eleven-thirty, we had the first official announcement, “Welcome to Saturday night show at Club Labamba. Tonight’s show shall be the bomb! We have lined up various activities including acrobatics, stage dance and the final show – the show! Feel comfortable and enjoy. Only one usual request…”
What would that be, I wondered.
“Please do not take any photos!”
The acrobats stepped onto the stage and showed their talents. They made various formations as they danced to fast paced benga beats. With every awe there was applause from the now jammed establishment. I saw them perch one of their members some three human beings up! The men-only troop danced their way out of stage even as the gathering asked for more. There was also a traditional dance by some girls. Thereafter, we saw a ballet-like performance between a gentleman and a lady, as they danced ‘lady’ by Kenny Rogers. But Kenya Power, being no respecter to even such a performance, ensured that the power went off for a few seconds. This forced the performance, that was about two minutes done, to be repeated from scratch. This repeat spoilt some surprises, but the elegance and dress, especially of ‘lady’ was something to be watched over and over again.
“Finally, ladies and gentlemen, the show!,” the announcer said.
And to keep all reminded, “And remember not to take any photographs, please!”
Sleep
I was jolted back to reality when our madam said that it was mid-night and she was not going to deprive herself of sleep anymore. I was voted to escort her to the hotel compound, which was just next door. I took the break and escorted her upto the hotel reception, a five minute walk.
I came back and found the two ladies behind our table still there. One was dressed in a short tight flowered dress and long black boots. The other was in a T-shirt and tight blue jeans. They kept their focus on our table, now with four men, even as we pretended to ignore them.
I took out my camera and took a photo of the three gents – just to have something to remind them of their escapades some day when we are back to the city.
“Wewe! Umesahau kwamba ulipewa warning usipige pige hizi picha zako!,” was the reaction I got from the guys.
“That was jana! And that final show, was it a reality?”
“I thought you see better with specs! And you had them!!”
Flash
The camera flash brought a flash of memory….
The final show started with four ladies dancing to some music as they moved towards the embankment of the pool, just in front of us. When they finally settled to their dance, I noticed that they had a loose blouse, the loosed ends tied into a note in the front. They had a wrap, whose ends were equally tied onto a note on their right waist. The wrap was too short. With their dark complexion, I needed to adjust my specs to confirm if there was anything beneath the wrap or this was it! As I started to comprehend, four gents, with swimming shorts and no tops joined the ladies from the opposite end. They did their dance, before finally doing a ‘bend over’ number. This song is supposed to imitate intimate action – and the four couples ‘did not disappoint’ in demonstrating ‘action’. Did I see some lady with legs raised, exposing her very small undergarment! Or there was none!! This part still confuses me.
At mid-night, after the show, the music was open to all. The dance floor was filled to capacity. The music was hot and varied. The DJ surely ‘rogad’ us, with his mix from all parts of Kenya and beyond. Our faint-hearted-four left soon after the final show. The die-hard-five remained to teach the Coasterians a few dance moves, especially the Western Kenya dance that requires an oiled shoulder, flexible waist and loose feet. And the dancehall had quite some ‘vituko’. From jungus that can’t dance – unless you call random motion of hands, legs and body in no particular pattern as dance. To ladies who were bumping us on the dance floor – was this a signal or what!
Interrupted
“Hebu turudi kwetu tukalale,” one of us declared, interrupting my busy mind. It was now 1am.
As we left the establishment, one of my colleagues confessed, “You know, when I went to the washroom, just a few moments ago, I found one of the two ladies on the washroom corridors. She approached me and asked whether she could come with me to my place.”
“Eh, wacha, urongo!”
“True, she said that she charges 2k for all services!”
“And….”
“And that is why we are getting out of here - fast!”
Back to business
One week later, we are presenting the draft report to the committee. We can not help but have the last laugh as we reminiscent what happened after the events of the Saturday night show. First, as we getting back into the bus ready to travel back to the hotel around 3am, when one of us asks to be shown the washroom. He is shown the tyre of the mini-bus… and that is the tyre that he washes! But precedence has already been set by someone else in the same bus!!
Secondly, in the bus, we all agree that the constitution recognizes Kiswahili as an official language. It is for this reason that we now decide to translate our policies, late in the hours of the night, into Kiswahili – just to obey the constitution. The group comes up with the following translations:
Liquidity policy – Sera ya maji
Savings policy – Sera ya uwekaji
Investment policy – Sera ya mali yetu
Dividend and Capitalization policy – Sera ya ugawaji and herufi kubwa
HR policy – Sera ya watu and nguvu zao
ICT policy – Sera ya tarakilishi
Procurement policy – Sera ya biashara
“How about ‘Loan policy’,” I asked aloud.
“Si unajua tu, kuwa lonely. Kwa hivyo, hiyo ni ‘Sera ya upweke’”
But wait till you hear the sentences that the 'policymakers' formulated from such innocent words like 'fanya' and its conjugations.
WWB, Nairobi, August 15, 2011
Running
Running
Monday, August 15, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The beach run – part 2
The beach run – part 2
“Shemeji, ivula yanipiga sana”
“Na lowa sana khu ngulo”
That is what I heard from one of my strange colleagues struggling to shelter under a small umbrella. He was talking on phone, even as five or six of us tried to outmaneuver each other to seek shelter from the cold and heavy rain drops. He was delivered the status report on the going-ons at the bus stop.
To get to into this struggle, my two colleagues and I had left our residence and took a matatu from the Rock to Nakumatt Nyali. We arrived at the supermarket about half past eight, only to be told that they had already closed. This forced us to travel on the next matatu to ‘Lights’, a stage that would lead us to Nakumatt Cinemax. Our very helpful matatu conductor had informed that the next supermarket was quite near.
“Hapo mbele tu. Ni karibu sana,” he had declared as we alighted at Lights. We therefore saw no need to get into another matatu.
When a ‘very near’ walk turned into thirty minutes on the road, we started suspecting that we had stepped on that insect. The one that if you stepped on, then you would loose your way forever. The street were however still relatively busy with people. This encouraged us on. The spirit of adventure also kept us going, to a place that we did not know. The only reason why we did not ask for direction was the fear of asking a jinni such a question. If we made the mistake of doing this, then we would be lured into the ocean for our final swim.
Alas! We saw the big expanse that is the supermarket block, just to the right of the road. Our entry to the compound was marked by some showers. Do not wish for rains at the coast, because when it does rain, then the earth just opens an oven of hot humid air that chokes the nostrils. In the supermarket the airconditioning kept us comfortable, even as the heavy rain could be heard drumming the top of the roof.
Rains
We left the supermarket while it still rained. After a brief shelter outside the block, we decided to run in the rain to the main road to await a matatu. Momentarily the rain had subsided and our wet clothes dried up. If anything, I was already sweating from the heated humid air. A ten minute drive in the matatu got us back to the Lights stage. We were forced to disembark even as it started raining heavily once more. We crossed the busy highway to get to the other side of the road. This would enable us catch another matatu going towards Bamburi. It kept raining even as we crossed the road and run for shelter. The shelter that I could afford was the torn umbrella that was housing six other adults. The rain kept pounding my back while the drip from atop the umbrella fell on my face. To reward our stay, the trader whose umbrella we had invaded informed us that, “Ambrela mtalipa kila mtu shilingi tano.” I thought of telling him the provisions on the 'bill of rights' of our new constitution, that guaranteed shelter to all Kenyans, but kept this thought to myself as I searched my pocket for 5/=. However, the lady must have been feeling sufficiently philanthropic, since she failed to collect when we departed as the rains subsided.
By the time the three of us got a matatu back to the Rock, our once soaked clothes had already dried up. When we narrated our ordeal to our colleagues, they just looked at us and wondered, “What rain? You people are as dry as a Rock!”
Our case was not made any easier by the lack of rains on this part of the city.
I found myself going to bed past mid-night. I had hardly slept the previous night due to the bus mishap, yet I was repeating another late night. For consolation, this seemed like the first time I felt a heated cold during a visit to this ocean-side town. With the air conditioner and fan both turned on, I covered myself and drifted to sleep.
The route
Even as I slept, I was filled with a sense of fulfillment. That is because in the evening during a thirty-minute break amid the seminar sessions, I had moved onto the white sandy beach, bordering the hotel establishment, and walked along the shores. The sand was warm and soft. The beach had lots of revelers. A group of about twenty young children, I guess primary school level, were swimming on the edges of the giant natural pool as a big group. From afar they looked like a collection of leaves floating on the seashore. Walking near my standing position was a foreign lady, I would guess above forty, stepping onto the edges of the water. She had a thin strip of something that looked like cloth on her waist and another on the chest. Am just being polite by saying this. She had surely put dressing to shame. Towing behind her were a couple, probably her children or some relation, in similar dressing. Shock would have registered on me, but I realized in good time that I was going to get used to seeing this type of dressing.
From where I was standing, I could approximate a one hundred meter distance on both directions of the shore. My idea was to organize the run as a circuit between these two extreme measures. The circuit would therefore be a 400m distance. I did not plan for a sprint. I wanted a jogging route or circuit. Something that we could do as a team, without being too tired to enjoy. How to setup the relay points was however proving to be a challenge. I could make a relay at 100m intervals – but this would seemingly be such a short distance that the members would easily sprint instead of the comfortable jog that I had in mind. However, a longer distance would prove a challenge as team members got tired or bored. The cheering and monitoring that I had in mind would not work if the route was too long. I also had to factor in the humidity and heavy air in my planning. The sea breeze at this time was however quite refreshing and was neutralizing the humidity.
I marked my current point with reference to a coconut tree on the hotel fence, and walked one hundred meters to the left of the hotel. The signboard on the shore read “Sarova Whitesands”. I know the feeling of 100m. This is because distance finally inculcates in your system when you become a seasoned runner. Generally, these were one hundred steps. As I stopped at the hundred-meter point, I could see the coconut tree swaying about. It did not look very far nor was the walk a strain. My mind was already made on the relay points. I now had to figure out the team compositions. I would either do the battle of the sexes or the battle of the committees.
Shoes
I was doing a loud piki-piki-ponki, father-had-a-donki, to choose amongst the two battles when I was interrupted.
“You can easily size up a man by the size of his shoes,” my colleague stated as a matter of fact.
We were generally grouped near the hotel perimeter as we enjoyed the last moments of the breeze as we headed back to the seminar room. This observation did not benefit all the menfolk in my team, since some had already left for the seminar.
“What is your authority?,” I asked.
“Many years of experience! And believe me, the truth does not lie.”
“Kweli kabisa,” the other lady colleague confirmed. “When I met my current huby, I knew in advance exactly what I was getting myself into.”
“And what were you getting yourself into?,” I enquired, wondering whether I was ready for this.
“If you sneeze, he’s out!”
“What the….”
While at the seminar room, I absentmindedly drafted the relay map on my notepad, even as the proceedings were going on. The seminar material was being projected on the big screen. Four relay points, one hundred meters apart in a circuit format. That is what I was now crafting on the A5 page. The battle shall however be…. I wondered once more. Meanwhile, I could not help looking at the feet of the men sitting around the three sides of a square-like seating arrangement. My mind wondered to the supermarket visit of the previous night. I had failed to get my size eleven sandals, at which point my colleagues had told me to “nunua size 5 and 6 kama hizi zetu, halafu uunganishe pamoja.”
The run is cancelled
When I woke up a few minutes to eight and later on went for breakfast, an amazing thing had happened. The once white long expanse of sand on the sea shore was non-existent. The ocean waters had risen to almost reach the hotel perimeter. There was hardly any shore to walk on. Were we supposed to run in the water!? How can water be existent one day and not existent the next day at the same place? This particular situation was a contradiction to the principle of contradiction, which states that nothing cannot be and not be at the same time! I momentarily removed my specs, which blurred my view of the ocean, forcing me to put them on again. I was surely not seeing double, nor was I being blinded by some substance consumed last night. The waters had surely engulfed my running circuit and my planned white sand relay was surely off.
On part 3 of the story, to be published next, I tell you of my final attempt to organize the run.
WWB, Nairobi, August 11, 2011
“Shemeji, ivula yanipiga sana”
“Na lowa sana khu ngulo”
That is what I heard from one of my strange colleagues struggling to shelter under a small umbrella. He was talking on phone, even as five or six of us tried to outmaneuver each other to seek shelter from the cold and heavy rain drops. He was delivered the status report on the going-ons at the bus stop.
To get to into this struggle, my two colleagues and I had left our residence and took a matatu from the Rock to Nakumatt Nyali. We arrived at the supermarket about half past eight, only to be told that they had already closed. This forced us to travel on the next matatu to ‘Lights’, a stage that would lead us to Nakumatt Cinemax. Our very helpful matatu conductor had informed that the next supermarket was quite near.
“Hapo mbele tu. Ni karibu sana,” he had declared as we alighted at Lights. We therefore saw no need to get into another matatu.
When a ‘very near’ walk turned into thirty minutes on the road, we started suspecting that we had stepped on that insect. The one that if you stepped on, then you would loose your way forever. The street were however still relatively busy with people. This encouraged us on. The spirit of adventure also kept us going, to a place that we did not know. The only reason why we did not ask for direction was the fear of asking a jinni such a question. If we made the mistake of doing this, then we would be lured into the ocean for our final swim.
Alas! We saw the big expanse that is the supermarket block, just to the right of the road. Our entry to the compound was marked by some showers. Do not wish for rains at the coast, because when it does rain, then the earth just opens an oven of hot humid air that chokes the nostrils. In the supermarket the airconditioning kept us comfortable, even as the heavy rain could be heard drumming the top of the roof.
Rains
We left the supermarket while it still rained. After a brief shelter outside the block, we decided to run in the rain to the main road to await a matatu. Momentarily the rain had subsided and our wet clothes dried up. If anything, I was already sweating from the heated humid air. A ten minute drive in the matatu got us back to the Lights stage. We were forced to disembark even as it started raining heavily once more. We crossed the busy highway to get to the other side of the road. This would enable us catch another matatu going towards Bamburi. It kept raining even as we crossed the road and run for shelter. The shelter that I could afford was the torn umbrella that was housing six other adults. The rain kept pounding my back while the drip from atop the umbrella fell on my face. To reward our stay, the trader whose umbrella we had invaded informed us that, “Ambrela mtalipa kila mtu shilingi tano.” I thought of telling him the provisions on the 'bill of rights' of our new constitution, that guaranteed shelter to all Kenyans, but kept this thought to myself as I searched my pocket for 5/=. However, the lady must have been feeling sufficiently philanthropic, since she failed to collect when we departed as the rains subsided.
By the time the three of us got a matatu back to the Rock, our once soaked clothes had already dried up. When we narrated our ordeal to our colleagues, they just looked at us and wondered, “What rain? You people are as dry as a Rock!”
Our case was not made any easier by the lack of rains on this part of the city.
I found myself going to bed past mid-night. I had hardly slept the previous night due to the bus mishap, yet I was repeating another late night. For consolation, this seemed like the first time I felt a heated cold during a visit to this ocean-side town. With the air conditioner and fan both turned on, I covered myself and drifted to sleep.
The route
Even as I slept, I was filled with a sense of fulfillment. That is because in the evening during a thirty-minute break amid the seminar sessions, I had moved onto the white sandy beach, bordering the hotel establishment, and walked along the shores. The sand was warm and soft. The beach had lots of revelers. A group of about twenty young children, I guess primary school level, were swimming on the edges of the giant natural pool as a big group. From afar they looked like a collection of leaves floating on the seashore. Walking near my standing position was a foreign lady, I would guess above forty, stepping onto the edges of the water. She had a thin strip of something that looked like cloth on her waist and another on the chest. Am just being polite by saying this. She had surely put dressing to shame. Towing behind her were a couple, probably her children or some relation, in similar dressing. Shock would have registered on me, but I realized in good time that I was going to get used to seeing this type of dressing.
From where I was standing, I could approximate a one hundred meter distance on both directions of the shore. My idea was to organize the run as a circuit between these two extreme measures. The circuit would therefore be a 400m distance. I did not plan for a sprint. I wanted a jogging route or circuit. Something that we could do as a team, without being too tired to enjoy. How to setup the relay points was however proving to be a challenge. I could make a relay at 100m intervals – but this would seemingly be such a short distance that the members would easily sprint instead of the comfortable jog that I had in mind. However, a longer distance would prove a challenge as team members got tired or bored. The cheering and monitoring that I had in mind would not work if the route was too long. I also had to factor in the humidity and heavy air in my planning. The sea breeze at this time was however quite refreshing and was neutralizing the humidity.
I marked my current point with reference to a coconut tree on the hotel fence, and walked one hundred meters to the left of the hotel. The signboard on the shore read “Sarova Whitesands”. I know the feeling of 100m. This is because distance finally inculcates in your system when you become a seasoned runner. Generally, these were one hundred steps. As I stopped at the hundred-meter point, I could see the coconut tree swaying about. It did not look very far nor was the walk a strain. My mind was already made on the relay points. I now had to figure out the team compositions. I would either do the battle of the sexes or the battle of the committees.
Shoes
I was doing a loud piki-piki-ponki, father-had-a-donki, to choose amongst the two battles when I was interrupted.
“You can easily size up a man by the size of his shoes,” my colleague stated as a matter of fact.
We were generally grouped near the hotel perimeter as we enjoyed the last moments of the breeze as we headed back to the seminar room. This observation did not benefit all the menfolk in my team, since some had already left for the seminar.
“What is your authority?,” I asked.
“Many years of experience! And believe me, the truth does not lie.”
“Kweli kabisa,” the other lady colleague confirmed. “When I met my current huby, I knew in advance exactly what I was getting myself into.”
“And what were you getting yourself into?,” I enquired, wondering whether I was ready for this.
“If you sneeze, he’s out!”
“What the….”
While at the seminar room, I absentmindedly drafted the relay map on my notepad, even as the proceedings were going on. The seminar material was being projected on the big screen. Four relay points, one hundred meters apart in a circuit format. That is what I was now crafting on the A5 page. The battle shall however be…. I wondered once more. Meanwhile, I could not help looking at the feet of the men sitting around the three sides of a square-like seating arrangement. My mind wondered to the supermarket visit of the previous night. I had failed to get my size eleven sandals, at which point my colleagues had told me to “nunua size 5 and 6 kama hizi zetu, halafu uunganishe pamoja.”
The run is cancelled
When I woke up a few minutes to eight and later on went for breakfast, an amazing thing had happened. The once white long expanse of sand on the sea shore was non-existent. The ocean waters had risen to almost reach the hotel perimeter. There was hardly any shore to walk on. Were we supposed to run in the water!? How can water be existent one day and not existent the next day at the same place? This particular situation was a contradiction to the principle of contradiction, which states that nothing cannot be and not be at the same time! I momentarily removed my specs, which blurred my view of the ocean, forcing me to put them on again. I was surely not seeing double, nor was I being blinded by some substance consumed last night. The waters had surely engulfed my running circuit and my planned white sand relay was surely off.
On part 3 of the story, to be published next, I tell you of my final attempt to organize the run.
WWB, Nairobi, August 11, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The beach run - part 1
The beach run - part 1
Aeroadplane
“This is like an aeroplane,” commented the lady sitting next to me. This was about five minutes after takeoff.
Early in the evening, I had left my workplace and got a taxi to town. The taxi ride was the employer’s way of getting me home after working me past work hours. How my ‘home’ turned out to be town on this particular Thursday, was just pure calculations on my part. My usual residence is a stone throw away from the workplace. But this is a story for next time.
At the bus station, various buses parked, filled-up and left, while we awaited our ten o’clock boarding time.
“Wanaosafiri Mombasa kwa Modern Coast, basi aina ya Oxygen, tafadhali nendeni kwenye basi KBD…,” the announcer started, and searched her words for the reminder of the registration plate.
Our team of eight had managed to get fairly scattered seats. I had managed a number 11. I remember calling the booking office six hours earlier, to reconfirm that this number was an aisle side seat, which they did. I do not fancy the window side during a night travel due to the cold.
There was no security check even as we boarded. All just filed in without any hassle. The only requirement was that each had to display their tickets for confirmation by the attendant standing outside the bus door. I was just about to ask the lady apparently sitting on no. 11 to move to the window side, when I noted that number 11 was actually a window side seat, about four rows behind the driver.
“What was the use of that confirmatory phone call? Cheating Kenyans!,” that is what my mind said. My mouth however said, “Excuse me, please let me through to my number eleven seat.” I settled on my seat, adjusted the headrest by lowering it backwards, then fastened the seat belt.
Videography
Before our departure, a video cameraman had gotten into the bus and without warning or notice, went ahead and took video coverage of the whole bus. As he moved around, he momentarily focused the lens on each passenger. Occasionally, he asked particular passengers to remove their specs and head gear and look straight up. This was quite strange. However, since no one seemed to worry or question the going ons, I followed suit.
At exactly 10.30pm, the hydraulic doors closed and the bus left the station. I hardly noticed this departure until the ‘aeroplane’ comment was made.
“I did not even notice that we are in motion,” I responded, by way of introduction to the person I was sitting next to. I was still bitter in the mouth due to my sitting position, but nothing beats a good conversation.
“What takes you down coast?,” I found myself asking, for no good reason, just to get acquainted.
“I live there. I was in this forsaken city for a graduation ceremony”
“You do not like the city much, do you?, ” I wondered aloud.
“With traffic jams that are a national disaster! Spare me!!”
So we kept the chit chat, even as the air-, sorry bus-hostess served bottled water, packets of juice and some nuts.
“Next they shall be offering 3D goggles for the movie,” I quipped to my partner. This got her off guard, forcing her to laugh this off, loudly, for a moment. My colleagues, sitting on the opposite aisle glanced at our direction with some envy and moved their gaze straight on after a moment.
“I have to be on duty early morning. I therefore have to obey the sleep that is catching up with me. The graduation ceremony took a toll on me.”
Comfort
When we hit Mombasa road, the coach settled onto a comfortable but relatively slow pace. There was hardly any discernible motion. It was as if we were at a standstill but the movement was real. This was super comfortable. The lights has been switched off, but the movie show must have been cancelled! Large red LCD display just above the driver position, visible to all, indicated, “Date: 7-28” then “Time: 10.50” and then “Temp/Humid 25 C, 65%”. The display alternated every fifteen or so seconds. The air-conditioner was real. At some point I actually directed a jet of cold air onto myself from an overhead knob. But eventually I settled onto the trip and started enjoying the ride. I started planning for my inaugural run at the coast – a beach run competition by the team of ten. Something like a relay between the dudes and the dudettes. How to position runners at the relay points still needed a calculation. Nonetheless, this scheme would only work if we were capable of making some time, especially in the morning or late evening. However, there is no harm in planning – the worst that can happen can be a cancellation.
“Lord have mercy!”
“Shindwe!!”
“Oh my God!”
“Reswa!”
I heard all such shouts almost simultaneously. This was hardly thirty minutes into the journey. As I was digesting the situation, I remembered the sound of a loud burst, followed by wobbling motion of the bus as it moved left and right for a moment. One minute later, the bus was at a standstill on the opposite side of the road, just at the edge of the road shoulder.
“That was a tyre burst,” someone said, even as passengers craned their necks to glimpse the windshield or impossibly look through the dark painted windows.
The lights were turned on and the driver stepped out. Our hostess disembarked and folded her seat to give passage to travelers who were now disembarking in total confusion, and some in panic.
When it sank in, we realized that we had had a front tyre burst on the driver’s side. But because misfortunes must always come about in good measure, it was not a coincidence that we did not have a functional spare tyre nor the tools to change the tyre. I also disembarked, finally, and passed by the red LCD that now displayed 11.00. I noticed that we were not far from the city. In fact, the lights on the horizon dotted the outline of Nairobi. The billowing smoke in the nearby industrial establishments signaled that we were actually at Athi River. The night was chilly and hence I got back to the bus after my short stint on the dark road that was seeing vehicles, especially buses, zooming through at lightning speeds.
Silence
There was no official word from anybody on our mishap nor the course of action. Everything happening was an interpretation of what ‘some passenger heard from the driver’. At some point, we heard that the bus was completely incapacitated and that there was no chance of the journey continuing. Some passenger came back to the bus, picked his bags and said that those who needed to travel to the coast urgently were supposed to board any other bus of the same brand heading to the coast. With fear of the unknown, I was one of the people who found themselves in a non-comparable bus, looking for any available seat. My colleague, who was ahead, had already managed a seat. I tried the empty seat immediately behind, but was told that it was broken, unless I was willing to travel ‘with a straight back’ to the coast. I had to disembark and wait for our unknown eventuality.
Later on, a mechanic came from Nairobi and changed the tyre. The replacement was not any good and could not sustain a long journey. We were informed of the big issue, that there was a mechanical fault that was causing the tyre to be eaten into by a metallic part of the wheel compartment. With this fault, any tyre changed would eventually wear out and burst, when the tube surface is eaten into. For our own safety, the bus was driven slowly to the nearby Athi River Police road block. We now had only about half the passengers, after the others got into other Mombasa-bound buses. Even at the road block, more passengers decided to jump bus and got going.
“We are staying here till morning, since there are only two buses of this kind,” one passenger volunteered loudly, in the midst of the chit chat in the bus. There was laughter, anger, disgust and some few 'Shindwe's in reaction to the statement. The number of buses was a sure statistic, but the waiting period was based on lack of information from anybody. We were just there – in the cold bus, with the AC now turned off, in the dark… and in a restless panic. The time was now 12 midnight. I just sat there. Resigning to fate I closed my eyes even as I said, “Good morning my team! It is a new day. Let me catch some sleep.”
Water bottle
Something hit me and I stirred.
“Sorry, it was not meant for you!,” I heard from deep sleep. I struggled with wakefulness to notice a half empty bottle of water lying next to my seat. That is what had hit me, that was the subject of the apology. I noticed that the lights in the bus had been turned on, but turned down.
“Wewe sleepyhead. Bure kabisa! Hebu amka! We are about to start our journey,” the same lady who had dropped the water bottle told her girl-friend. Their seat was just a row behind, on the opposite side. I had to rub my eyes off sleep, since I momentarily saw her plant a kiss on ‘sleepy’s lips and tell her, “Sweety, kaa vizuri. Our trip to the coast is back on track.”
I become more sober when they clasped each other in an embrace that I would interpret as romantic and soothed each other to sleep. To keep me guessing, they covered themselves with a sheet and made sure that there was good exposure around sleepy’s dropping trousers. As the bus turned back to face the direction of Mombasa, the lights were finally turned off and we started our journey to the coast. The time was 2.30am.
When we broke a record of arriving at Mombasa at 10.30am, four hours later, I got to understand what happened at the Athi River Police road block. The narration occurred as we got into our chartered van heading to our hotel rooms. We heard that a mechanic came from Nairobi and fixed the problem and realigning the front wheels. The adjustment removed the metallic protrusion that was eating onto the front right tyre. The problem of the tyre had been with the bus since its trip from Mombasa to Nairobi before our boarding. The very wise mechanic back at Nairobi had given the bus a clean bill, stating that the problem was ‘not too serious’ and could be resolved at Mombasa after this particular journey. One of the phone calls that the hostess made early in the morning was a status report to ‘someone’ on the other end of the line. “You mean atapoteza kazi?,” was one of her statements over the phone.
With four lost hours, my planned beach run was not having good prospects on a now tighter programme.
On part 2 of the story, to be published next, we find out how my run at the coast went.
WWB, Nairobi, August 10, 2011
Aeroadplane
“This is like an aeroplane,” commented the lady sitting next to me. This was about five minutes after takeoff.
Early in the evening, I had left my workplace and got a taxi to town. The taxi ride was the employer’s way of getting me home after working me past work hours. How my ‘home’ turned out to be town on this particular Thursday, was just pure calculations on my part. My usual residence is a stone throw away from the workplace. But this is a story for next time.
At the bus station, various buses parked, filled-up and left, while we awaited our ten o’clock boarding time.
“Wanaosafiri Mombasa kwa Modern Coast, basi aina ya Oxygen, tafadhali nendeni kwenye basi KBD…,” the announcer started, and searched her words for the reminder of the registration plate.
Our team of eight had managed to get fairly scattered seats. I had managed a number 11. I remember calling the booking office six hours earlier, to reconfirm that this number was an aisle side seat, which they did. I do not fancy the window side during a night travel due to the cold.
There was no security check even as we boarded. All just filed in without any hassle. The only requirement was that each had to display their tickets for confirmation by the attendant standing outside the bus door. I was just about to ask the lady apparently sitting on no. 11 to move to the window side, when I noted that number 11 was actually a window side seat, about four rows behind the driver.
“What was the use of that confirmatory phone call? Cheating Kenyans!,” that is what my mind said. My mouth however said, “Excuse me, please let me through to my number eleven seat.” I settled on my seat, adjusted the headrest by lowering it backwards, then fastened the seat belt.
Videography
Before our departure, a video cameraman had gotten into the bus and without warning or notice, went ahead and took video coverage of the whole bus. As he moved around, he momentarily focused the lens on each passenger. Occasionally, he asked particular passengers to remove their specs and head gear and look straight up. This was quite strange. However, since no one seemed to worry or question the going ons, I followed suit.
At exactly 10.30pm, the hydraulic doors closed and the bus left the station. I hardly noticed this departure until the ‘aeroplane’ comment was made.
“I did not even notice that we are in motion,” I responded, by way of introduction to the person I was sitting next to. I was still bitter in the mouth due to my sitting position, but nothing beats a good conversation.
“What takes you down coast?,” I found myself asking, for no good reason, just to get acquainted.
“I live there. I was in this forsaken city for a graduation ceremony”
“You do not like the city much, do you?, ” I wondered aloud.
“With traffic jams that are a national disaster! Spare me!!”
So we kept the chit chat, even as the air-, sorry bus-hostess served bottled water, packets of juice and some nuts.
“Next they shall be offering 3D goggles for the movie,” I quipped to my partner. This got her off guard, forcing her to laugh this off, loudly, for a moment. My colleagues, sitting on the opposite aisle glanced at our direction with some envy and moved their gaze straight on after a moment.
“I have to be on duty early morning. I therefore have to obey the sleep that is catching up with me. The graduation ceremony took a toll on me.”
Comfort
When we hit Mombasa road, the coach settled onto a comfortable but relatively slow pace. There was hardly any discernible motion. It was as if we were at a standstill but the movement was real. This was super comfortable. The lights has been switched off, but the movie show must have been cancelled! Large red LCD display just above the driver position, visible to all, indicated, “Date: 7-28” then “Time: 10.50” and then “Temp/Humid 25 C, 65%”. The display alternated every fifteen or so seconds. The air-conditioner was real. At some point I actually directed a jet of cold air onto myself from an overhead knob. But eventually I settled onto the trip and started enjoying the ride. I started planning for my inaugural run at the coast – a beach run competition by the team of ten. Something like a relay between the dudes and the dudettes. How to position runners at the relay points still needed a calculation. Nonetheless, this scheme would only work if we were capable of making some time, especially in the morning or late evening. However, there is no harm in planning – the worst that can happen can be a cancellation.
“Lord have mercy!”
“Shindwe!!”
“Oh my God!”
“Reswa!”
I heard all such shouts almost simultaneously. This was hardly thirty minutes into the journey. As I was digesting the situation, I remembered the sound of a loud burst, followed by wobbling motion of the bus as it moved left and right for a moment. One minute later, the bus was at a standstill on the opposite side of the road, just at the edge of the road shoulder.
“That was a tyre burst,” someone said, even as passengers craned their necks to glimpse the windshield or impossibly look through the dark painted windows.
The lights were turned on and the driver stepped out. Our hostess disembarked and folded her seat to give passage to travelers who were now disembarking in total confusion, and some in panic.
When it sank in, we realized that we had had a front tyre burst on the driver’s side. But because misfortunes must always come about in good measure, it was not a coincidence that we did not have a functional spare tyre nor the tools to change the tyre. I also disembarked, finally, and passed by the red LCD that now displayed 11.00. I noticed that we were not far from the city. In fact, the lights on the horizon dotted the outline of Nairobi. The billowing smoke in the nearby industrial establishments signaled that we were actually at Athi River. The night was chilly and hence I got back to the bus after my short stint on the dark road that was seeing vehicles, especially buses, zooming through at lightning speeds.
Silence
There was no official word from anybody on our mishap nor the course of action. Everything happening was an interpretation of what ‘some passenger heard from the driver’. At some point, we heard that the bus was completely incapacitated and that there was no chance of the journey continuing. Some passenger came back to the bus, picked his bags and said that those who needed to travel to the coast urgently were supposed to board any other bus of the same brand heading to the coast. With fear of the unknown, I was one of the people who found themselves in a non-comparable bus, looking for any available seat. My colleague, who was ahead, had already managed a seat. I tried the empty seat immediately behind, but was told that it was broken, unless I was willing to travel ‘with a straight back’ to the coast. I had to disembark and wait for our unknown eventuality.
Later on, a mechanic came from Nairobi and changed the tyre. The replacement was not any good and could not sustain a long journey. We were informed of the big issue, that there was a mechanical fault that was causing the tyre to be eaten into by a metallic part of the wheel compartment. With this fault, any tyre changed would eventually wear out and burst, when the tube surface is eaten into. For our own safety, the bus was driven slowly to the nearby Athi River Police road block. We now had only about half the passengers, after the others got into other Mombasa-bound buses. Even at the road block, more passengers decided to jump bus and got going.
“We are staying here till morning, since there are only two buses of this kind,” one passenger volunteered loudly, in the midst of the chit chat in the bus. There was laughter, anger, disgust and some few 'Shindwe's in reaction to the statement. The number of buses was a sure statistic, but the waiting period was based on lack of information from anybody. We were just there – in the cold bus, with the AC now turned off, in the dark… and in a restless panic. The time was now 12 midnight. I just sat there. Resigning to fate I closed my eyes even as I said, “Good morning my team! It is a new day. Let me catch some sleep.”
Water bottle
Something hit me and I stirred.
“Sorry, it was not meant for you!,” I heard from deep sleep. I struggled with wakefulness to notice a half empty bottle of water lying next to my seat. That is what had hit me, that was the subject of the apology. I noticed that the lights in the bus had been turned on, but turned down.
“Wewe sleepyhead. Bure kabisa! Hebu amka! We are about to start our journey,” the same lady who had dropped the water bottle told her girl-friend. Their seat was just a row behind, on the opposite side. I had to rub my eyes off sleep, since I momentarily saw her plant a kiss on ‘sleepy’s lips and tell her, “Sweety, kaa vizuri. Our trip to the coast is back on track.”
I become more sober when they clasped each other in an embrace that I would interpret as romantic and soothed each other to sleep. To keep me guessing, they covered themselves with a sheet and made sure that there was good exposure around sleepy’s dropping trousers. As the bus turned back to face the direction of Mombasa, the lights were finally turned off and we started our journey to the coast. The time was 2.30am.
When we broke a record of arriving at Mombasa at 10.30am, four hours later, I got to understand what happened at the Athi River Police road block. The narration occurred as we got into our chartered van heading to our hotel rooms. We heard that a mechanic came from Nairobi and fixed the problem and realigning the front wheels. The adjustment removed the metallic protrusion that was eating onto the front right tyre. The problem of the tyre had been with the bus since its trip from Mombasa to Nairobi before our boarding. The very wise mechanic back at Nairobi had given the bus a clean bill, stating that the problem was ‘not too serious’ and could be resolved at Mombasa after this particular journey. One of the phone calls that the hostess made early in the morning was a status report to ‘someone’ on the other end of the line. “You mean atapoteza kazi?,” was one of her statements over the phone.
With four lost hours, my planned beach run was not having good prospects on a now tighter programme.
On part 2 of the story, to be published next, we find out how my run at the coast went.
WWB, Nairobi, August 10, 2011
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